by Tom Benson
“We have now seen several pieces of equipment being removed from the detective’s house, and we believe it will be for forensic examination. The items included a computer, a camera, and several large bags of CD’s or DVD’s.” She smiled at the camera. “We’ll keep you right up to date, here on ISITV.”
“I bet you will,” Honey said under her breath. She finished her coffee and left.
Honey was still many miles away from her destination, but occasionally when the road crested a rise, there was a glimpse of the large expanse of water ahead to the north. The southern tip of Lake Michigan appeared, and the waterway grew wider as she got closer.
When Honey arrived at the intersection just south of the small town of Gary, she turned right onto Route 94. The change of route was only slight, in that it headed east a short distance before resuming a northerly direction. Honey found herself driving along what was effectively a coast road.
Lake Michigan accompanied Honey on her left flank for mile after relentless mile, but she knew the journey would be worth the effort. She was closing on the man who had set up and organized the secret ring of murdering perverts. A road sign told the renegade police officer that her destination was being reeled in steadily; Muskegon, 25 miles.
About 15 miles after the sign, Honey pulled over and checked into a motel. Nightfall was rapidly approaching, and although she had the stamina to continue, she knew it would make sense to take a break. She had coffee at the motel and left her main baggage there. As a precaution, she kept her handgun in a shoulder holster under her jacket and went out to check the last stretch of the journey. Time spent on recon as she knew was never wasted.
*
At 11pm, having parked a mile away, Honey walked along Lakeshore Drive on the outskirts of Muskegon. It was a pleasant, warm evening, and there was a southeast breeze blowing from the lake. She saw a sign that informed visitors that a group of the local marinas were ahead. There was a network of places to moor a vessel in every available corner of the southern region. She stopped for a moment and saw that the various mooring areas were designated by a color coding. Her work was still going to be cut out for her.
It was almost 15 minutes later when she arrived at a sign proclaiming Red Marina. She stopped to take a closer look and was relieved to see that a map of the area centered on the board.
All around the borders of the map were short lists of vessels with numbers allocated to show their position on the map. Clear acrylic covers protected the lists of vessels. She scanned down the names, but there was no mention of the Dark Lady, or indeed a Dark anything, so she strolled on.
Honey was feeling tired by the time she had finished checking the Red Marina, and then the Yellow Marina. She had to push herself and walked on towards Blue Marina. In the dim glow from a nearby street-light, she found Dark Lady listed as position 14. There was no hurry, but she had to know the boat was there. She ambled onward, trying to keep her wits about her. There was something about the combination of darkness and fatigue.
It was another 15 minutes before she found herself walking along a waterside pathway. She saw three craft tied off towards the end of a short wooden jetty. The Dark Lady lived up to its name, in that it was dark blue, but even in the moonlight looked like a sleek vessel with long narrow windows and a low cabin.
Just in case anybody should be watching; Honey took a long look at the other boats in the vicinity. Before turning to leave the jetty, she noted that there were cabin lights on in the Dark Lady.
She heard the water lapping rhythmically against the hulls of the vessels. Drifting in the air was the faint smell of smoking coals, so somebody nearby was either having or had, a late barbecue.
As she walked away in the near darkness, she looked at the small, regularly spaced lights along the pathway. She paused occasionally to look out to the water, but it was only so that she could listen for anybody following, and then she turned and strolled back to where she’d parked her car.
*
On the way back from her recon of the marinas she had considered going straight to bed, but had the urge to have a late coffee. She knew it wasn’t advisable to drink coffee before bed, but she reasoned that it also wasn’t advisable to go around killing serving policemen. She had coffee.
Honey parked a few spaces along from her room as she had gotten into the habit of doing, and then she wandered across to the diner and ordered coffee. Instead of taking a table, she sat at the counter not far from the overhead television.
For a few minutes, she watched the end of a documentary about the incredible journeys made by whales up along the west coast of the US. There was footage of the calf being separated from its mother by a group of Orcas. The Killer Whales forced the pair apart and then butchered the youngster. By the time the program came to an end, Honey was considering that weaker animals all needed someone stronger to look out for them.
The scheduled news bulletin occurred earlier, but a newsflash was announced, and a familiar face appeared on the screen.
“Hi, this is Caroline Connelly reporting for ISITV.” She licked her lips on camera before continuing, almost a subliminal hint that she couldn’t get enough of the story. “I’m at a trailer park not far from Greensburg and behind me the police have cordoned off a trailer owned by a man called Gus Higgins.”
Honey looked around at the other half dozen customers in the diner. None of them seemed to have more than a passing interest in the breaking story until the reporter stepped up her dramatic monolog.
“Mr Higgins is an outward bound instructor who owns a hunting lodge in the Appalachian Mountains. It seems he also owns a small log cabin not far from the lodge, and this has been cordoned off by police because an illegal compound containing wolves has been discovered.”
“Shit man,” a big bearded, red-haired trucker said as he took a stool at the counter. “I drove up past that way this evening and the place was swarming with cops. There were choppers and road-blocks and all manner of strange things going on.” He shook his head. “The damn road was blocked for near on two miles.”
Nobody voiced interest in the trucker’s viewpoint and when he fell silent the small group of people in the diner gazed at and listened to the dark-haired reporter.
“As regular viewers will know, we’ve been trying to keep pace with a number of recent homicides. The murdered people don’t appear to have an obvious connection, but the latest reports have brought the focus firmly onto the Pinewood district near Greensburg, Indianapolis.”
A police siren sounded, defying the reporter to continue until it had gone out of range. She looked over her shoulder, as if expecting an apology for the interruption.
“We now have a man possibly burned alive in a house-fire, a woman run over in downtown Pittsburgh, a police detective kidnapped and an outward bound instructor has mysteriously disappeared.” She shook her head before continuing. “Let’s not forget, the husband of the traffic accident victim is still missing.”
Another siren sounded, and Miss Connelly allowed her professionalism to slip as she rolled her eyes and gritted her immaculate white teeth. Honey thought the woman did well to look good and still put in so many hours in front of the camera.
“There is also the double tragedy of two young girls to consider. They were already dead when the fire started, but why were they in that basement?”
Caroline paused and her eyes clouded for a moment.
“We’ll be right here for you when there is any explanation of these strange events. This has been Caroline Connelly, for ISITV on location near Greensburg, Indianapolis.”
The red-headed trucker said, “We got us a vigilante working folks.”
“How do you figure that?” another trucker asked. “Those folks have been killed in different ways in different locations.”
“Yeah, they have,” red-head said, “in different states. The common denominator is Greensburg. I’d bet a month’s wages there is something unpleasant that connects them.”
“I r
eckon you ought to stick to driving 18-wheelers man.” Both men laughed.
“You mark my words,” red-head said. “I was listening to the police broadcasts down in Virginia. There was a gal locked in a cabin, and not one hair on her head had been harmed.” He laughed to himself. “Yep, only a vigilante would be so selective about who gets hurt.”
Honey finished her coffee and considered how things now stood. The various police forces were now obviously communicating with each other, which under normal circumstances she would have been delighted about, but things were different. She was on the wrong side of all that co-operation.
She knew that the Federal authorities would already be taking an interest. That meant she was running out of time to complete her mission. As the evidence mounted, there would be a bright-eyed agent somewhere who would figure who the next victim was to be.
For a moment, Honey blocked out the conversations around her and tried to work out a strategy that could get the job done. She had to get clear of the area before the police located Morgan or his boat.
The only thing now that would keep her plans on track was Morgan’s deceitful nature. If he bought or hired the boat under an assumed name, then nobody would know where he was. His deceit could be his undoing.
A police patrolman parked outside and entered the diner. He ordered a coffee and looked around the place before his gaze fell on Honey. She affected a casual smile and nodded, but didn’t speak. The officer returned her smile and his attention was caught when his coffee was poured and placed on the counter.
Honey slipped from the stool and headed for her room. She showered, set her alarm and got ready for bed. She couldn’t remember any time in her life when she had slept in so many strange beds night after night. Comfort wasn’t a consideration; just a place to lie down.
Before she closed her eyes, she reached out and lifted her gun from the holster. She checked the action and then placed it under her pillow. For some strange reason she felt closer to evil with this one man, her stepfather; Detective Tony Morgan.
About ten minutes after Honey lay her head down and closed her eyes, the display on her cell illuminated to inform her of a text message. She remained sound asleep, completely exhausted by the pace of her pursuit.
***
Chapter 15
Unexpected Meetings
.
Monday, June 23rd, 2003
Muskegon, Michigan
Honey had awakened to the sound of birdsong before her alarm had a chance to do the job. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, she realized how much she missed her morning work-outs. Just like her friend Maria, unless she had been on a late shift it was habit to work her body every morning.
In an absent-minded way, she glanced at her cell and realized it was showing a text message. She checked it.
‘WNTD MAN - GARY STRICKLAND - IN NYC. EDN DEPT. C xx.’
“Thank you, Charles,” she said aloud and thought about the man in the purple Cadillac. She sent back, ‘XX’.
As soon as a reply was sent to the pimp, she changed the card in her cell and sent messages to Bert and to Maria to update them. She originated the messages to her other two contacts to prevent a cross-contamination of cell numbers. The law-enforcement agencies would be scouring the airwaves for anything that could be cross-referenced.
Honey was confident that Bert’s number would be safe because he used a relay system for his phone messages and a Virtual Private Network (VPN) for his emails. Maria had two cells and was in the habit of regularly changing her cards.
Having showered under a hot spray for a few minutes, Honey took a breath and then for the final minute turned the temperature to cold to invigorate her ready for the day ahead. It was a masochistic way to wake the body, but she knew it worked.
Although she was living from a backpack and a hold-all, Honey’s minimal wardrobe contained a good range of outfits to maintain different looks for her tasks. This particular day she decided to wear a loose fitting red plaid shirt, worn outside Daisy Dukes. A white baseball cap and white sneakers completed the outfit. She would blend in well.
Bert sent a text message which simply said, ‘WILL SPK SOON’.
As she ate breakfast in the diner located near the motel, Honey watched the 8am news. During the bulletin, a familiar face appeared in a photograph on screen; Ben Sorrenson. He looked better in the official photo than he had the last time Honey had seen him, on Saturday evening. The newsreader in the studio finished the brief summary, before handing over to the reporter on location; a reporter eager to give her ten cents worth.
“Good morning, I’m Caroline Connelly for ISITV, reporting from woodland outside Shelbyville, Indiana.” As always in her outside broadcasts, she turned sideways to allow the cameraman to earn his wages by zooming in on the blue and white police tape as it fluttered and twisted. This time the tape bordered a small copse, surrounded by uniformed cops.
Honey watched the reporter and wondered if the woman ever slept.
“It was at 6.30am today that a woman walking her dog was horrified to find a man’s body in the woods about 200 yards from this spot.” The big eyes opened wide as she stared into the lens before continuing. “There is no official confirmation as yet, but it’s rumored to be the body of the missing detective, Ben Sorrenson. The police have refused to comment on any connection to the naked and hooded man seen by a park ranger last Saturday evening, in West Virginia in the forest. We’ll bring you more facts as they’re made clear.”
As she usually did when she could afford the time, Honey had a second coffee before leaving. She walked back to her room and added a couple of choice items to her outfit and the contents of the large purse that hung over her shoulder.
In the light of experience when dealing with desperate men like today’s quarry, she pulled back on the action of her pistol to load a round into the chamber; just in case. She had already fitted the suppressor. When ready, she tucked her pistol inside her large shoulder bag. It would have been impractical to wear a holster because she was already wearing a harness under her shirt.
Honey drove to the same area as the previous night and parked her car in a residential street that had no CCTV cameras. It was preferable to using a public lot. It was going to be another bright and pleasant day, for most people. Honey noticed that there were already a few boats already heading from moorings. They were cruising toward the channel that would take them to the main body of Lake Michigan.
Although she knew exactly where she was going, the place looked different in the light of mid-morning. To shield her face she pulled on her cap, and then she walked at a leisurely pace along the sidewalk. She stopped briefly to check the large notice board and map at the start of the complex of marinas.
It seemed that there were more people on boats than on the long lakeside footpath. Honey looked into the distance and about 100 yards away a man sat on a bench staring out across the waterway. It looked like he was watching a ferry as it headed toward the narrow channel.
Just like the previous evening, she became aware of the distinctive smell of burning coals and roasting meat. Some of these guys were seriously into barbecues.
The boat that interested Honey was only 200 yards away, and she could see it clearly. She saw it moored between two white craft of about the same size. The Dark Lady stood out as the three craft gently bobbed up and down in the water.
As she continued to stroll along the path, Honey stared at her target boat for a moment, before turning her attention back to the man she’d seen on the bench. He would be a witness to her passing this way, which wasn’t such a good thing. She pretended as she’d done on the previous evening to be taking an interest in other boats in the vicinity.
On closer inspection when she was about 50 yards away, she noticed that the man was wearing a leather jacket, faded jeans, white sneakers and a navy baseball cap. Honey screwed her eyes. He looked familiar, although as she got closer he also looked a bit rough, and needed a shave. Whe
n she was within a few yards, he stood up and walked towards her.
The man touched the peak of his baseball cap, reached a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and flicked one out. As he lifted the cigarette to his lips, he addressed Honey.
“Good morning miss,” he said, looking at her as if she was a total stranger. “Would you have a light?” Bert looked dead tired, but his eyes were smiling.
“Sure,” she said as she fished out the lighter that she carried. “What are you doing here?”
“No time to explain,” Bert said as he drew a breath to light the cigarette. He nodded and whispered. “Don’t go near the boat, it’s wired, and Morgan’s not onboard.”
“Thanks, I’ll continue along this path.” She nodded, smiled and looked along the path.
Bert pointed in the direction that Honey was walking as if giving her directions. He nodded and spoke quietly as he started walking away.
“There’s a small cafe about 500 yards along.” He winked as he turned away.
Honey smiled at him again and nodded before walking on. At the end of the mooring, she paused to look around as if taking in the general layout of the place, and then she continued to walk along the path.
About 50 yards away in the opposite direction, Bert flicked the un-smoked cigarette into the water. Walking the dog was always a good way to strike up a conversation, but it was less obtrusive to carry a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You could either ask for a light or if asked, offer one. He slipped peppermint gum into his mouth to combat the taste of the cigarette. Bert had never smoked out of habit.
*
Half an hour after their brief meeting on the footpath, the conspirators met again in the small cafe that Bert had suggested. Honey had just finished a coffee when Bert turned up.
“Two more coffees please,” Honey said to the approaching waitress and rolled her eyes. She’d already told the waitress that she was expecting company.
“Hi,” Bert said, taking a seat. “I hope one of those is for me.” He gave a short laugh. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I can explain.” He was happy for the waitress to hear his apology.
